


haunted by the ghost of you

by stormss



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Declarations Of Love, Fix-It, Happy Ending, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-15 20:38:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18506659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormss/pseuds/stormss
Summary: Margo screams, a loud and desperate wail —Eliot!— and it pierces his ears. He looks down, and there's so much blood. Something evil in his mind tells him that there's too much of it, the cut is too deep. He feels his heart burst as he falls to his knees.*Or, a different take on the finale.





	haunted by the ghost of you

**Author's Note:**

> okay. so. 
> 
> I'm sort of in a weird place emotionally with this show rn, having just watched 4x13. I can't believe I'm actually writing a fix-it for a show that was my escape for a while, but I feel like something like this was just going to be in my head until I finally wrote it so. here we are. this was finished literally at 1am so excuse any mistakes! 
> 
> the title is from lord huron's "the night we met" because....emotions.

The thing is — Quentin's used to needing a Plan B.

They're constantly being dicked around by the universe, have been since he learned about magic, and so when the reservoir turns up empty and they've only got the Monster's sister in one of the demon bottles, he feels like they're on the steady route to needing a Plan F. Or G. He keeps thinking of the pressure of Eliot's hands on his jaw, meshing together now with the haze of those same hands, gentler, in another time, roaming everywhere. And Quentin will run shaky fingers through his hair, suddenly longing for a time when he could hide behind it, and try not to completely lose his shit. 

He does a mental checklist. The reservoir's empty, and most of the ambient magic has been low for weeks. Jules is stuck with humanity that leaves her powerless and Fogg's managed to trap the Monster, but they don't know how long they've got. And Eliot is closer to death with every passing second, which both he and Margo are trying to ignore as they all try to come up with something —  _anything_ — that'll save him. Kady suggests using the hedges to create enough magic to power the incorporate bond, and Quentin feels the burning sensation of blind hope flowing through him. 

This can work. And at this point, he's willing to do anything. 

Margo gives him a look, as they're about to travel to the forest where the Monster is stuck in his confused state. She's got one Sorrow hiked over one shoulder, and Quentin's got the other Sorrow in a tight grasp. As Penny closes his eyes, Margo's fingers curl around Quentin's wrist, squeezing just enough.  _I'm here,_ it tells him,  _we're going to save him._ Quentin blinks and they're surrounded by towering trees, the fog making the air heavy. Margo stalks off ahead of them, the plan suddenly in motion, and Quentin becomes a walking distraction as he yells for the Monster, heaving Sorrow over his shoulder, ready to swing. 

It works, because in a breath Margo's letting out a guttural scream, and the blade has cut a gash into Eliot's stomach. 

"Shit," Quentin murmurs, jumping into action with Penny. The message is sent and the magic around them ebbs and flows as they begin their tutting, in unison with hundreds of hedges around the world. Margo is yelling Eliot's name, and he can't help but be distracted by her desperation, her hands suddenly bloodied. He swallows around the lump in his throat and continues to move his fingers, because he'll be damned if this doesn't work because of him. 

He feels a gentle shove to his shoulder, and Penny nods down to the demon bottle. A slight shimmer appears in the air around it, the sealing of the incorporate bond, and Quentin knows that this situation is pretty time sensitive but —  _but._ Margo screams, a loud and desperate wail —  _Eliot!_ — and it pierces his ears. He looks down, and there's so much blood. Something evil in his mind tells him that there's too much of it, the cut is too deep. He feels his heart burst as he falls to his knees. Eliot's eyes are closed, bruises of violet under them, his skin pale as blood continues to trickle out and stain his shirt. 

"Q —" Margo whispers, voice cracking. She meets his eyes as he slumps forward, pushing his own hands over Margo's, adding more pressure to the wound. "He's not waking up, why the fuck isn't he waking up, Q —" 

Margo's continued pained whispers crawl over him, but Quentin is too focused on Eliot's face, the boyish way his curls stick to his forehead, the faintest trickle of blood darkening his lips. He sets his jaw and glances up for a moment, watching as Penny makes sure the bottle is sealed, tucking it away in his bag. 

" _Penny._ " Quentin calls, his voice strained. Margo's throat bobs as tears continue to fall, her voice becoming his only focal point as she tries to wake Eliot. Penny finally gets everything properly put away, and runs over, placing a hand on Quentin's shoulder and Margo's elbow. They open their eyes to the harsh white light of Brakebills, and barely seconds after they're on solid ground they begin screaming for a medic. 

Professor Lipson appears with a stretcher and a few helping hands, and they all manage to get Eliot's body settled on it before she begins wheeling it toward the infirmary. She tells them to stay back, that she could fix him even without magic, and Penny tries to gently remind them about the plan. 

Which means that this is supposed to be Quentin's cue to exit. He's supposed to meet Alice, he's supposed to go with them to the Seam. He's supposed to do so much but he sees Margo crumpling against the wall, trying not to show her pain, and he just shakes his head at Penny. "I can't, I-I have to be here." 

"I get it." Penny whispers, nodding once before blinking away. Quentin runs a hand down his face and quickly moves toward Margo, wrapping his arms around her. 

"I'm here," he whispers, into her hair. She starts to shake like a leaf, up against his chest. "Margo, I've got you." 

That's what breaks the silence in the room. They're completely alone in the waiting room, under too bright lights that feel like they could expose them to the world, and Margo finally lets out the sob that's been sitting heavy in her chest. He holds her tight, and he manages to direct them toward a pair of chairs against the far wall. It's an awkward set-up, leaving him pretzeling up his body so he can still let her cry into his shoulder while they sit together. She eventually sniffs, and roughly drags her sleeve under her eyes. 

"We're in a fucking school that teaches magic, and Eliot's getting sewn up like he's in some god-damned hospital in the middle of nowhere." Margo mutters, her voice harsh and sharp. She shakes her head, and meets Quentin's gaze. "You didn't have to stay with me, Q." 

"I know." Quentin whispers, reaching down to grasp Margo's hand. "I needed to. I —" 

Margo knocks her shoulder into his own. "You don't have to explain it to me, Coldwater." 

Quentin looks down at his feet, and he figures it's true. The only other person that understands how much love someone could hold for Eliot Waugh is sitting right next to him, on the verge of tearing her hair out. He begins tapping his foot nervously, the anxiety of hospitals seeping out of every pocket of air. He thinks of Eliot, and it makes him feel a little better. Well, a lot better, really, when he thinks of those happy moments that seem so distant that it's like they're painted in muted colours; they have become memories that have faded around the edges with time. 

"You should probably know that I'm. Well. I love him, Margo." Quentin says, feeling Margo's eyes on him. "I have for so long that it feels as natural as breathing but I just — you needed to know." 

"He's going to be okay." Margo's voice is insistent, trying to convince both of them. "And I'm going to lock you two in a room until you confess your shit to each other." 

It shocks a laugh out of him; it's barely a huff, but it's there. Margo smiles, too, and it's like there's a glimmer of hope. 

* * *

(He can feel himself becoming whole, again. The edges of his vision are cloudy, and whatever magical drugs they're pumping through him are working because he feels like he could walk on air. Sinew and muscle come together again, blood replaces what he's lost, and the memories start flooding back. Slow, at first, then all at once like a fucking dam being broken. He remembers Margo and her screams and the rawness of the scars the Monster left on him, the echoes of possession curling around his mind like a taunt. He remembers  _Quentin_ — he remembers his promise and he remembers his regret, and he knows when he's actually conscious again he's going to tell him and keep telling him because he  _loves_ him, and he wants the whole world to know it.) 

* * *

"The surgery is done." 

He and Margo must've fallen asleep, heads knocked together, because it's those words that startle them awake. Quentin wipes the bleariness from his eyes and takes in Lipson, standing before them.

"He's doing well, but he'll likely be asleep until the sleeping spell wears off." Lipson's voice is steady as she talks to them, which is welcoming. Margo jumps to her feet with the news.

"Can you take us to him?" She asks, yanking Quentin up with her.

"Of course." Lipson says, already turning to lead them to another ward of the infirmary, one that was filled with beds and the steady hum of mundane medical equipment. They're about to enter the room through the double-doors when the air shifts behind them, and Quentin feels a hand on his arm. He turns and he sees Alice, unscathed, holding two cups with a nondescript diner's logo printed on them. She doesn't say it, but she wants to talk, and Quentin feels he owes her at least this. 

"Go ahead." Quentin says to Margo, who only lets her gaze linger on him for a few seconds before sensing the tension around them. She nods and steps forward with Lipson, leaving him alone with Alice. The corner of her mouth twitches upward, just enough, and she holds out the cup to him. He doesn't particularly want it, but he figures coffee would be a good idea. Partly because he hasn't slept in days, but mainly because it would give him something to do with his hands while he tried to work out this conversation. 

They stare at each other for a few moments; they turn to staring at the linoleum floors, sipping at their coffee. Finally, Quentin decides to break the silence because he needs to see Eliot, more than anything. 

"I'm sorry, Alice. I should've been there." Quentin finally says, the safest choice of words he could land on after working through several options swimming around in his mind. His hands curl around the styrofoam cup, as she shakes her head at him, eyes trained on her lap. 

"We did what had to be done. So did you, Q. I don't blame you for that." Alice pushes at her glasses, eyes darting around as she works out her own words. "But it's clear to me that this is where you need to be. Not just geographically, right now, but with him. You want that." 

"Alice —" 

"I do love you, Q." Alice cuts him off, finally meeting his eyes. "But we both deserve to find ourselves without being so fucking dependant on one another. I need to get away for a while and figure out who I am, you know? And you deserve to love him. I don't hate you for that."

Quentin shakes his head, tears threatening to fall. "I want you in my life, if that's a possibility." 

Alice quirks a little smile, moving to quickly squeeze his hand before standing up. "I think we can work that out." 

She leans down and gently presses a kiss to his forehead. Then she walks off, leaving him to scramble to his feet, coffee abandoned, pushing through the doors Margo had disappeared through moments before. And it takes him a second to adjust to the feeling of Alice and her support, and the promise that Eliot's  _alive._ For real this time, tangible and right here in front of him. And as Quentin approaches the row of beds, he spots Margo quickly, sitting close to the bed near the big window. 

As he gets closer, he notices the way the sunlight filters in and creates delicate shadows over Eliot's face, though his eyes are still closed. He has tubes sticking out of his arm, a heart-rate monitor latched onto his forefinger, all of it attached to beeping machines next to his bed. A blanket is tucked around him, the blood washed from his face. Margo is using a damp cloth to pat at his forehead, keeping him comfortable despite his being unconscious, and she smiles softly at Quentin as he pulls a chair up to the other side of the bed, so they're sitting across from one another. 

It's a long few hours of Lipson popping into the room to check Eliot's vitals and ensure the signs of possession were gone with a few simple tools. She does some more tests while he's out and determines that he might have some limitations in movement for the foreseeable future, and otherwise seems hopeful that he'll have a full recovery. And it seems like it's taking too damned long, but as the sky turns orange with the sunset on the horizon, Eliot's eyes open. 

Margo gasps first, a sound that probably didn't mean to come out but one that she pays little attention to. She stands, delicately pushing Eliot's curls out of his eyes, murmuring sweet nothings that could only ever be directed toward Eliot. "El, sweetie, we're here. It's okay." 

Quentin absently reaches for Eliot's hand and gives the slightest of squeezes, unsure of how he's supposed to act in this moment. He'd been ready to crawl to the ends of the earth for this man, and here they are. 

"Bambi," Eliot breathes, haggard and strained. His voice cracks and Margo picks up a cup of water, bringing a straw to Eliot's lips. He drinks and drinks, and as she smooths down his hair he smiles. " _Bambi."_

They both let out small sounds of relief, grasping at each other and crying and trying not to get tangled up in the wires. They don't need words — they never have, falling together like puzzle pieces as they reconnect. Quentin feels like his heart is about to break through his rib cage and fall out onto the pristine hospital floor, and when Eliot pulls away from Margo to meet his eyes, he feels a crazed sob spill out. 

"El." He croaks, lurching forward for a hug of his own. Eliot's arm loosely curls around Quentin, and their breathing becomes halted as they reunite, and he feels like he's going crazy, just being able to  _touch him_ again. He has to touch him all over, his hands roaming over bones and muscle and skin, making sure he's there and real. 

"I'm real." Eliot affirms for him, mostly whispered into his neck, and Quentin softly chuckles into his sternum. Quentin pulls out of the hug but keeps them in the same space, holding Eliot's face in his hands, running his thumb over his sharp jawline. He can't help the tears as they fall, but all three of them are messes so it doesn't bother any of them. They're just all crumpled up together, and Margo pulls away to tell the others that Eliot's okay. When she's gone, Quentin just pushes himself closer, trying to make sure he's not going to fuck up any of El's wires. 

"I'm sorry it took so long." Quentin says, leaning his weight against Eliot's bed. "Fuck, I missed you so much and I couldn't even handle the thought of you being dead, and this whole time you were locked away in your mind and I'm so fucking sor—" 

"Q, Christ, you have nothing to be sorry for." Eliot tangles his fingers with Quentin's, knocking their foreheads together. Quentin closes his eyes and breathes in deep through his nose, trying to savour this moment, this touch. It sets his cells ablaze when Eliot brushes their noses together, and whispers: "I love you." 

"You don't have to say that, El." Quentin mumbles, the flashes of their conversation after Margo's wedding so long ago appearing behind his eyes. 

Eliot shakes his head. "I  _do,_ Q. I fucking love you. I promised myself — long story — that if I ever got away from the Monster I would tell you, and, well, I'm  _in love_ with you, motherfucker." 

"What —" Quentin stammers, and Eliot pushes forward. 

"Proof of concept, remember?" Eliot asks, eyes opening as if he's suddenly wary. "Shit, Q, unless you don't —" 

Quentin lets out one last exhale of disbelief before surging forward and kissing Eliot, hands falling to El's jaw. He kisses him like he's wanted to kiss him for the past year, full of longing and that promise: the one that yelled from every rooftop  _I love you I love you I love you._ He feels relief the moment Eliot kisses him back, his fingers grasping desperately at the back of Quentin's sweater, trying with every ounce of his being to get closer. 

"Well, Jesus. That took longer than I expected." 

They pull back when Margo's voice cuts the silence in the room, and Quentin can't even be mad. Eliot pulls him back in for another kiss before his heart monitor starts beeping a little excessively and Quentin laughs against Eliot's mouth and they pull away for good (for now) to sit together, hands still curled together, with Margo finally getting to tell Eliot about her quest to get her axes. 

It's comforting, and it's warm. 

It's home. 

* * *

(He gets to leave the infirmary the next day, when he's passed all of Fogg and Lipson's tests. He'll have to get use to the lag in his leg, forcing the use of the cane, but it's the price he's decided he has to pay to get to be so happy. Quentin helps guide him back to the cottage, where they all plan on sleeping for ten days straight. There's other issues pressing against them, which he slowly learns about as more visitors came to his hospital bed — he learns about an apparent hedge revolt and the fuckery at the Library with  _gods_  and Margo's determination to be un-vanished from Fillory —but they all deserve rest. So most of them shack up in their rooms from before, and it feels so normal, curled up with Q on his old bed, laying together and sharing stories of the quest. 

It fucks with his head, sometimes. He sees the Monster's actions with tunnel-vision, like he'd been a visitor in a dream. And he knows it will take time to deal with the scars that were left behind, but he has Bambi, he has Q. And though it seems too good to be true, it's  _enough._ ) 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading (': comments and kudos are, as always, deeply appreciated.
> 
> come say hi on [ tumblr! ](http://lizzogay.tumblr.com/)


End file.
